Lyrics:

Her mother said, "Beware of boys in bands
And certainly don't let them write you songs.
For though they'll come to you on bended knee and kiss your pretty hands
When the singing's done and the sun's up they'll be gone."

And though her mother has a point
I might resent the implication
That every boy who plays guitar
Plays women like Gene Simmons

Four thousand six hundred photographs
Stuck into a scrapbook beneath your bed
Four thousand five hundred and ninety nine broken hearts
And one more you can't get out of your head

And though you swear you can remember every pair of lips you kissed
Deep down you're scared there's one or two you might have missed
Oh Chaim Weitz, wherefore art thou?
Does your mother know who you are now?

Not that I can point the finger, I've been a sinner just the same
I've fallen hard in love in motels and by sunrise lost her name
I've slipped out into cold air in the smallest hours to leave
And in a pockets in my jacket kept my last fidelities

A navy coin and a broken plastic compass that someone gave me
That can't find north anymore, just like me

Oh Gene Simmons, wherefore art thou?
I could sure use a hand on my shoulder now

When fidelity runs low, that there's the moment when you choose
In life, the things you love, well some you keep and some you lose